


The Fury of a Patient Woman

by kreite



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Series of Oneshots, Vendettas, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 19:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kreite/pseuds/kreite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all of Luke's students were killed on the night of Kylo Ren's betrayal: as the final blow was struck, The First Order earned another front in their campaign as a lone survivor, disillusioned by the slaughter, renamed herself after an ancient scion of vengeance and turned to the ways of the sith to seek her own brand of grief eschewed justice on the boy she once called friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fury of a Patient Woman

**Author's Note:**

> This is essentially a vanity project born out of a plot bunny that refused to leave. 
> 
> Kylo was a wonderful villain, interesting, mysterious, very fun to hate and very cool, but without more detail something in me found it hard to believe that all of Luke's students were killed in one go, I mean it makes Snoke seem like a proper villain to get one over on THE Luke Skywalker like that and it makes sense narratively because if any of them had survived you'd have had to have made them part of the movie and that would have just been clutter, but this is fanfiction, where anything goes.
> 
> So... here we go, hope you enjoy.

"Turn around."

The voice whispers darkly over the shouts of his ambushed command via a crude filter usually reserved for droid vocabulators; it makes the hulk of hoary armour standing amidst the crushed remnants of a stormtrooper's breastplate seem primordial and monstrous and yet it is feminine indeed.

"We meet at last," the woman's icy, red-eyed mask cocks to one side and he feels a wave of derision sweep over the field, "...Kylo Ren?" She spews his new name in mockery.

He draws himself up and deepens his own voice filter to hide his surprise. "You know me, however you have caught me at a disadvantage, in more ways than one." His senses glide over her and she blocks him as fluidly as an equal might.

He clucks his tongue, eager at the prospect of testing himself against a worthy opponent but the supreme leader would admonish at such reckless appraisal of the situation, perhaps there is a hidden message in this aggression.

"You are strong in the force and clever enough to lure me away from my men and catch me off guard, but you haven't attacked yet. Perhaps you desire an audience with me. is this show of strength meant to convince me of your power?"

"You wear the dark like a blanket." She ignores him and they start to pace about one another, both of their sword hands petting their lightsabers as the battle between their respective forces continues to rage.

No, she wants to fight.

"It's becoming." She's insulting him but he cannot tell where from.

"This conversation feels a bit one-sided. might I know the name of my challenger?" His tone stays level, probing; he tries to look past the armour, to see the points of tension she might align into a stance.

She almost chuckles, it comes through in a ponderous shrug of her massive pauldrons. "Has it occurred to your master that perhaps they don't know of every force user in this galaxy."

He bristles. "How do you know of my master?"

"I don't, but every trained kath hound needs a muzzler." She raises the empty emitter of her blade towards him accusingly. "And you were never much of a leader."

Again she fronts with this pretence of familiarity; one of the most logical guesses at her identity clashes within him: how could the Knights Of Ren have missed one? How could one who must have been weak in the force once upon a time have evaded the gaze of his master as she climbed in strength, and to such a degree as to face him today? How could anyone hope to match him without the guidance of the supreme leader?

In an instant, the name and face of a much younger girl snaps into his head and the smirk on his lips projects through their subtle back and forth in the force.

"Then I know who you are."

"That comes as no surprise to me, Ben. You were always good at deducing things that were pathetically obvious." Despite her vitriol there is the tiniest hint of unease in her voice, an unbalanced emotion he is all to familiar with.

He latches on to it and allows his confidence to pass over the invisible wall between them.

"I don't know about you but I'm still not much of a fan of chit chat, shall we get to the point?"

There's a moment of hesitation, it almost seems like she's asking the question herself before she finally stares him dead on with a hatred that seethes and boils beautifully; he almost feels honoured at how much just looking at him seems to incense her.

"Let's go." she spits icily.

Both lightsabers ignite at once: that she favours her left hand lends further credence that she is who he believes she is; the crackling red light dips and accents the scars and contours of her armour while his own hand thrums with the weight and strength in his grip.

They collide to the music of dying men and women, as a light show of explosions, blaster fire and climbing smoke surrounds them.

The duel is a learning experience, he thinks he catches the whir of cybernetics in her feral style but that might be a symptom of her aged armour. His gear and defence is clearly superior but without enough time between her furious strikes he can't capitalise on any openings.

It becomes a contest of wills as he swings horizontally in a minor gamble to put some distance between them before reeling back and sending out a force push that snaps the trees beside her into splinters and stirs up the soil and ash into a stinging funnel. He sees the glint of her mask's eyes and lightsaber rise up to an ireful countenance and refuse to budge behind what becomes a cloud of obscurity. The sensors in his helmet and his innate power bypass it and he understands that she is no novice in techniques of the force as she arranges the debris into a shoal of projectiles.

Before the battle between them can reignite however there is a final explosion, large enough to burn into the low hanging clouds as the ruins of an unknown frigate crashes into the surface and sends out a shockwave that puts the entire battlefield on hold.

As Kylo rises back to his feet there is a buzz of activity as his men assuage their status.

The woman is gone.

She was testing him, testing herself.

She planned this, they fell right into a trap, no, not even a trap, this was a stage, a prologue, she wanted to guide events, she probably fancied herself a sith lord and this, her auspicious introduction to her rival.

His only consolation, as he laments on a tragic lack of necks to crush, is the assurance that it was her inability to quickly best him that convinced her to call it off when she did.

Before the growing snarl can mature in his throat his communicator beeps into the voice of a young stormtrooper, trained enough not to stutter but unsure enough that he knows her commander is dead, or too severely injured to be useful. 

"My lord, our technicians have re-established communications, we've suffered significant casualties but we were able to drive them back; I can confirm, the enemy is in full retreat."

"Are you fit to pursue?"

They aren't, he knows they aren't, the enemy was specifically outfitted for this but Vader would never allow his soldiers to show weakness in a mutual retreat.

"Y-yes, sir!" She lies to appease him, her weakness brings bile up his throat.

"Very good. You will await my return."

He wonders if she's been strangled before.


End file.
